


It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

by 1000lux



Series: Does your journey still continue? [6]
Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Coda, Established Relationship, Guilt, Heahmund returns home, M/M, No spoilers for 5B since this was actually written before, Religion, Return to England, Self-Doubt, fighting against each other, not compliant to 5B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 21:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17393978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000lux/pseuds/1000lux
Summary: Ivar goes back to England, Heahmund returns to his people. They meet in battle.





	It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own rights to either the series or it's characters
> 
> So, this has been lying on my harddrive for about a year now. And since Heahmund now died on the show, I felt I might as well post it now, since the show never gave me the scene of them fighting each other, I was waiting for.

Heahmund is worried for Ivar. Alexander the Great only had thirty-two years. Achilles fell in the bloom of his life. Too much reminds he of the heroes of legends, who were not like heroes at all. Too conceited and too powerful. And while he does not believe in jealous gods dooming those who aspire to them, you can only tempt fate so often. And they all know how Ragnar Lothbrok's star burned out, and it had risen much later and and never burned as brightly.

So Heahmund follows him and keeps an eye on him. And thinks in his mind of heroes that had a happy ending. There are none, though.

*

Ivar is reluctant. Reluctant to ever return to England. Does he know well what it is going to cost him. But now he can't push it off anylonger.

"Will you come with me to England?"

"Of course I will." Heahmund replies. "Do you think I want to stay here with the children and old people?"

*

Heahmund didn't use to have a problem with the cold. Much more with the heat he'd experienced in some of the countries he'd travelled. But since that fateful journey across the ocean, where he'd been so robbed of all pretense of power and control, so utterly defeated in a way he'd never been before, all the cold will make him think of is being beaten and devastated, on that ship, afraid and in turmoil, as the first monks of Lindisfarne must have been decades earlier.

Ivar can tell that his priest doesn't like the cold. That it affects him in some uncanny way. In Ivar though, it only stirs fond memories, when he sees his bishop huddled in on himself, shivering, only fond memories of the time when he aquired, this marvelous specimen, this, dare he say, companion on his journey.

But now the journey seems as unclear as it was the first time. And it is Ivar who huddles closer into his furs, for he does not know what the future will bring.

*

"Will you fight for me?" Ivar asks, as they make shore in Wessex.

"You know I can't." Heahmund replies roughly. "Anywhere. For you. But not here."

Ivar nodds ruefully. "I know that."

*

He does not know why he came. Only that he couldn't have stayed. It is God who decides upon the path of his journey. He cannot he refuse him now. So he has to refuse Ivar.

Why Ivar brought him, though, he cannot fathom. He can tell the other knew what would happen, they both did. And it's not in Ivar to act so selflessly. And for once Heahmund would have wanted not to be given a choice. But Ivar did. Maybe for the simple reason that they are too close by far. Have been for too long. To put their own happiness over that of the other. But while Heahmund would die for Ivar, he won't defy God for him. Not in this. God might forgive him love. He won't forgive murder.

*

They remain at camp for a while longer, going through the motions, as if there's a battle to prepare for, for Heahmund, as if there's a need for him to sharpen his sword.

*

He remembers his words spoken once, a lifetime ago it seems, to Ivar.

~  
"I am not a holy man, not even a particular good one. That is why you picked me. And God may forgive me, but I'll win your war."  
~

And he did, he's won Ivar his earldom, his kingdom. But this war, here, now, this one he can't win for him.

*

"Ivar..."

"I do not want to talk about it, priest."

Heahmund walks up to him, puts his arms around him and Ivar let's himself fall against him, let's him absorb his weight. One last time.

*

"Go then, priest. You are a free man. No one's stopping you." Ivar says.

Ivar watches as, in the middle of their camp, the priest picks up his sword and leaves with nothing more. Walking past the other warriors. Shoulders squared. Head held high. This time no one jeers, no one pushes him.

Ivar follows him to the end of their camp.

"Give him my horse!" he calls to one of the guards.

They both smile at each other.

Heahmund fastens the sword on his back and gets onto Ivar's steed.

"God protect you on your ways, Ivar." he says.

"Should you really bless me? We will meet in battle. Maybe your god likes me better than he does you?"

Heahmund laughs. "May the Lord keep you and protect you, Ivar."

*

No one questions where Heahmund has been and how he's survived. Aethelwulf doesn't like him, but needs him, now that the northmen have returned in full force. And all the priests who would like to see Heahmund burn on a pire, knowing very well how he would have survived those years, well, they are too intimidated by him.

And Heahmund doesn't lie, tells them exactly what he did. Exactly the same thing Ivar told him, over three years ago, to convince him to fight for him.

*

Ivar sees his priest in battle, as he saw him so long ago, for once at the other side again. Ivar should have known he would claim his place among his men again without question.

Heahmund fights and kills the men he's fought alongside for so long, without hesitation. Cutting his way through their lines with as much fervor as he always has.

And Ivar thinks what he's always thought during the past three years. Just let me have this, gods. Just let me have this for a while. Just for a little longer. But it's already gone. Three years that seemed enough to build an empire, but are still already over again. Enough time to defeat kings and build a giant army. But not enough time to have all the conversations he needed to have. Not nearly enough that it could be enough happiness for the rest of his days. Ivar is a greedy man, he knows that. He wants everything. All the time. But Heahmund is nothing he could keep. Heahmund is like him, he also wants too much. And so they're both left with too little. But still they both made a decision. So it is what it is.

*

How this particular man could have become so necessary to him. Ivar didn't use to have people necessary to him. He had people he used. People he liked, very few of them. But not this man, who, while Ivar had tried to get into his head, had instead gotten into his. 

But now, he's gone. And Ivar will have to learn to go on by himself again. It's never been different before. He doesn't need Heahmund any longer. The war is over. Ivar has won. All he has to do now is raid England to his heart's content. Maybe create a few more viking strongholds here. Some that will actually keep. Maybe he'll even fullfill both Bjorn's and Ubbe's wish for a settlement. Who knows? Who's he kidding, the only reason he'll ever consider a settlement would be to have some sort of peace, some sort of convenient reason to see Heahmund again. But, who knows, maybe Heahmund will already die in the next battle they meet in. Maybe he won't have to worry about him any longer.

*

Heahmund is back in a church. For the first time in years he hears again the voices of the choir praising the Lord's name. The high stone walls reveberating with song. He is not holding the sermon this time. Instead receives the communion like any other member of the congregation, feeling patheticaly grateful, as the host touches his mouth, the cold, ancient stone under his hands as he kneels on the ground.

King Aethelwulf may see him as the sinner he is, but all the priests and bishops at court and the other folk, who at first eyed him with the same disdain, look at him again as if he's been sent by God himself to save them. Since he returned from battle, having repelled the northmen once more. He is underving of their admiration and love, even if it's only born from fear.

He's unwelcome at court as much as needed. Once Ivar and his fleet have left, maybe, he will return to Sherborne. Find some peace, some solace. He has no urge to go again to the holy land, to fight a war that seems more and more senseless, since his talks with Ivar. And that a heathen should be the one, to show him how blind he's been to the Lord's wishes...

But he knows he cannot stay at Sherborne. Right now his mind is in turmoil. And he craves revalidation through his faith, by his fellow Christians. But prayer is not what calms his mind. Not in the long run. He finds calmness of mind in fighting. The only time when all of his colliding and contradictory urges seem to make sense is when he is fighting in the name of the Lord.

He cannot go for long without a sword in his hand. All the excuses his mind had made for his deeds, had given him more solace while he'd been with the vikings, than he'd ever known before. A warrior in his heart, but also a priest. And as Ivar said, with them it isn't a contradiction. But everything else in their land was a contradiction to his faith. Even Ivar. Especially Ivar. He, who claimed to hate Christians and still accepted everything of Heahmund's without argument. Who had never even tried to make Heahmund forsake his belief. Had allowed him to practice it as much as he wanted. When no Christian would have ever done the same for any of them. Had not King Ecbert burned down the Viking settlement with women and children inside it? A chance of peace that maybe could have prevented all the wars they were fighting now. And who would have ever thought that there would come the day, where he himself would think about possibilities to make peace with heathens? Remembers he only too well the time when he refused the same peace offered by Ragnar Lothbrok's sons. He'd been so arrogant. So sure in his ways. But can peace with heathens really be worse than needless slaughter of good Christian folk?

But even then, he can not find the same peace inside himself. Needs the fight. The battle. Maybe his parents had been wrong to send him to the monastery. Maybe he wouldn't be as conflicted now if he'd only ever been a knight. But he is, and it was God's decision. And he shall see where his path leads him now, has God after all allowed him to return to England.

And he asks God for forgiveness, for his ingratitude, his doubts, his sinful thoughts.

*

"Brother." Bjorn sits down beside him. He hands him a drink.

"You want to drink with me?" Ivar asks.

"Why not?" Bjorn shrugs. 

"I must make quite a sight, if you feel pity for me."

Bjorn balks, shakes his head, takes a drink, shakes his head again. "It's just... I've never seen you so... sad."

"Hmm," Ivar nods in contemplation. "I guess I am sad." He shrugs. "It'll fade."

"You loved him."

"I do not want to talk about that." Ivar says calmly.

"Why not? It's nothing to be ashamed of. I've lost many people I loved."

"It was easy enough for him to leave, so I should not waste too much thought on him."

Bjorn shrugs with one side, shaking his head, as he lifts his cup, then stops. "I do not think it was easy for him to leave."

"Athelstan did not leave." Ivar says almost petulantly. "He stayed with our father. He left King Ecbert and returned with our father. Two times!"

Bjorn nods. "True." A pause. "But Heahmund is not Athelstan. Athelstan was very unsuited to our ways, still he adapted better. Heahmund never truly accepted our ways. Never even thought about abandoning his god. Maybe because he was older than Athelstan when he first came here. Maybe because Heahmund is stronger. But our father always admired Athelstan for his ability to doubt and question everything, especially his own ways. He said it made him stronger than everyone else."

"I do not care for his motives." Ivar replies softly. And looks for a moment just like every other person with heartache.

"Maybe he's coming back." Bjorn offers, trying to cheer his brother up.

Now Ivar laughs. It's not a happy sound.

*

It is after they take the town of Manchester, that Aethelwulf wants to parlay. Ivar asks for him. So, of course, Heahmund goes.

Ivar sees his priest arrive from afar, looking glorious and lordly, again in his red-and-white crossed attire over his armor, high on horseback, looking every inch the enforcer of his god. And, gods, Ivar has missed his sight, albeit he's seen him from afar in battle often enough, has missed him like the use of his legs, as if he'd known the full use of them, only to lose it.

"You have come, priest!" Ivar greets him cheerfully.

"Ivar." Heahmund replies calmly.

"Come sit." Ivar says. "I sure won't stay here standing all the time."

They enter the tent that's in the middle of the neutral ground they've chosen. Heahmund quietly nods at a few warriors he's come to know well over the years.

"You look well, priest! It's good to be home, I guess?" Ivar is proud how well he can keep the bite out of his voice, can make his face relax and his smile be as menacing as it ever was.

"Yes, it truly is." his priest replies, as always giving nothing away. "What do you want, to leave?" he then cuts to business.

"Is that what you want, priest?" Ivar asks. "For me to leave?"

They can speak freely. Are they speaking the viking tongue and not English. And there's certainly nothing the other vikings don't know about him and Ivar. Still Heahmund feels like this is not the place to have this conversation. But when and where else? Where will he ever have the option for that again?

"It doesn't matter what I want." he replies instead.

"It matters to me."

"I stayed with you for so long, did I not? I never asked... before."

"That's not enough for me." Ivar says, brows drawn together in pain.

"I know it's not." A small smile. Then, "Ivar, what do you want? What will Aethelwulf need to give you, for you to leave?"

"You." Ivar simply replies, with a small smirk.

"You cannot make a decision like that. Your men would not stand for it."

"I know." Ivar smiles again.

"So, be serious, Ivar. What? Land?"

"Nothing. There won't be peace. I just wanted to see you."

*

Heahmund has missed him. Can only to himself admit how much. Have they grown close to each other so much after all, sharing the deepest darkness, each of their hearts encompassed, only trusting the other to have their confidence, to carry the weight they would not carry any longer themselves.

*

Nevermind his emotions and whatever turmoil there is in him –When has there ever not been turmoil inside him?– he puts his armor on everytime there is a call to battle and he goes out there and fights as he always has. And he goes into church and dons his robes and he holds sermons and blesses bread and wine. And he stands with the other generals and makes plans that will cross Ivar's plans and they trick and out-trick each other, always one step ahead of each other. A cat and mouse game they haven't done like this in years. And he kills the vikings that get in front of his sword. But that's not news, he's always killed vikings throughout the years. Only now it does not matter which color their banners. And it feels wrong to tread over the broken raven banners on the ground.

He does not go to confession. Or maybe he should, just to see the look of the particular poor priest afterwards.

He is still who he ever was. The hailed warrior-priest who people flock to and trust implicitly. Always a little larger than life. Not much has changed. He fucks one of the ladies who watch him doe-eyed during the sermon, again. He doesn't flaggelate himself afterwards. Doesn't do penance in any form. Doesn't know what for. The act in itself was meaningless, just like the penance would be.

He thinks of Ivar. Thinks of battle. Thinks of armor being halfhazardly pulled off, the blood of the men he killed on Ivar's lips. Thinks so many sinful thoughts he wouldn't know where to start with repentance. Feels guilty for not feeling guilty. Wonders how he could have changed so much. He doesn't miss his life with the vikings. He misses Ivar. Thinks for a fleeting moment they should not have returned to England.

Ivar must have known. Heahmund could have never fought against his own people. No matter that over the years he's done pretty much anything for Ivar. He could not. And he wouldn't want to. If now he was given the same choice again, he would do exactly the same. Nothing has changed. He is not a viking. He is a Christian priest. And these are his people. And he will fight for them to his last breath. He would not raise his weapon against another Christian. That's not what his order is for. They are not soldiers for the profane needs of kings to widen their territory. They are the soldiers of the only king who matters in the end. The king of the whole world. They only serve to protect Christianity. Heahmund has done so before and he does so again now.

*

Heahmund remembers dumb, little, insignificant things. 

~  
"I'm tired, Ivar. I want to sleep. So should you. If they have been until now, I'm sure your gods will still be there to discuss in the morning."  
~

It's like all he can do right now is remember. He remembers how conflicted he'd been in the beginning of their relationship. He is conflicted now. There has never been anything but conflict. But now the axis has shifted. Ivar never had any understanding or respect for his inner torness. For Ivar is never conflicted. He wants. He doesn't ask why or how or is it alright.

And Ivar's lack of understanding for his conflict always gave Heahmund solace in a way. For it meant to Ivar he was right just the way he is. Nothing had made Heahmund feel more sound and unsinnful than Ivar's lack of understanding.

How he could so easily accept the sin offered by Ivar? He thinks back to one of their first conversations. Those times before Ivar and him had become inseparably close. Thinks of times when they were enemies. When he was still a chained prisoner of unsure fate.

~  
An outstretched hand. And in it. An apple. Nice and round and gleaming. Not just the core of one, thrown in the dirt before him.

"What am I supposed to do with it?" Heahmund replied suspiciously, not making any move to take the object that looked more and more desirable after all the scraps that had been given before, with the gnarling fist of hunger tearing in his guts.

"It's an apple, priest." Ivar replied, eyes mirthful and quizzical. "Eat it."

Before Heahmund could fully contemplate his next move, he'd already reached for the apple with both hands, one grabbing Ivar's hand, as if he was to pull it away again, the other snatching the apple, pulling it close to his chest. Then his teeth were breaking through the gleaming skin, both hands holding onto it, like a prized possession, juice flowing from the tear, running over his fingers, into his mouth. And he forgot everything for a little while.

"Are you trying to be nice to me?" Heahmund asked later, the almost spiritual experience of this one simple meal seeming almost unreal now.

Ivar smiled, like Heahmund had asked something funny. "I've been nothing but nice to you. I was nice when I gave you my horse. When I didn't kill you."  
~

Once more the serpent had offered the forbidden fruit. And as in old time, it had been accepted just as readily.

*

"Lord Jesus. Meek and humble of heart, Hear me.  
From the desire of being esteemed, Deliver me, Jesus.  
From the desire of being loved, Deliver me, Jesus.  
From the desire of being extolled, Deliver me, Jesus.  
From the desire of being honored, Deliver me, Jesus.  
From the desire of being praised, Deliver me, Jesus.  
From the desire of being preferred to others, Deliver me, Jesus.  
From the desire of being consulted, Deliver me, Jesus.  
From the desire of being approved, Deliver me, Jesus."

Heahmund hears the old and accustomed prayer that he's prayed often enough himself, and thinks of Ivar. As everything makes him think of him these days.

~  
"Why would you pray for that?" Ivar asked. Having sat there, patiently and silently until Heahmund was finished. "It's stupid."

"Because I'm am not a humble man. Not in my heart."

"And you shouldn't be." Ivar shrugged with a smile. "Why? You are a great warrior, a great warlord. You've walked out of many battles victoriously. No man can stand beside you. Why would you wish for others to succeed in battle more than you? Do you not want to win?"

"I do. I do want to win. Too much. I should not want the glory that comes with victory. But my heart is dark and pride-filled. I am vain and self-centered."

"Oh my," Ivar smirked. "I am too then, I guess. Will you pray for me too?" A mischievous, doe-eyed plea.

"I am praying for you already, Ivar."  
~

That had been the breaking point. He'd already been lost then. It is said you should pray for your enemy. But it is impossible to fight a man and to mean it when you pray for him. Meaning it means you've already lost. Heahmund is not a saint. He is a warrior.

*

Ivar remembers stupid things that he does not want to remember. Things that only hurt him. Things that unrevocably pledged him to the priest, in ways that no one could destroy again. For the other had seen him in ways no one else ever had.

~  
Harald raised his glass. "You are a great warlord, Ivar Lothbrok. We could not have come this far without you."

Beside Ivar, Heahmund spoke, "The stone which the builders rejected, has become the chief cornerstone."

Ivar smiled.

"What did he say?" King Harald asked.

Ivar was still smiling, holding Heahmund's gaze, even while he was speaking to Harald, "He is proud, too, to be fighting alongside me."  
~

And Ivar had never been so happy, so proud. He had loved him, for those words alone. And he carries them with him, still. Edged into his skin. The words of the Christian god, and still he does not mind.

*

The memories follow him like a dark cloud. Like punishment. Not allowing him to settle back in his own life. Memories that make him feel fond and protective of the man he has to fight now. Memories that tell him of how it could happen that he pledged his sword and heart (yet not his soul) to the man who by all rights should never have been anything other than his enemy, but hasn't been for a long time now. Heahmund is not sure he can ever become it again.

~  
"Ivar are you drunk?"

Ivar leaned forward, nearly toppling over and grabbed Heahmund's face with both unsteady hands, nearly hitting him in the eye with his fingers when he misjudged the distance.

"I like you." Ivar told him confidentially, with a big grin.

Heahmund smiled humoringly. "I know."

Ivar leaned closer with so much fervor that Heahmund considered backing away as no to risk accidentally getting his nose broken.

"And you? Do you like me?" came the next question, sly and coy at the same time.

Heahmund had had many starry-eyed village girls and ladies just the same, walk up to him and ask the same thing. Confidential. Blushing. He'd never have expected to be asked the same thing by Ivar of all people. Nor would he have expected him to be so endearing about it.

Heahmund laughed. "I do."  
~

Heahmund wonders once more why they are fighting. Why a man as smart and distinguished as Ivar cannot come to an understanding with them. Why war is so important to him. But he is not truthful, here, either. He does not care about the war going on. War has never disturbed him in the way it should have. When peace is what every man of the cloth should strive towards to. Every good Christian. He cares about Ivar. He cannot fight Christians but he does not want to fight Ivar, either. And Ivar cannot give up his war. So they have to give up each other. But, oh, so far they haven't been able to do that, either.

*

God sends him a sign much sooner than expected. As he comes upon Ivar's crumpled form on the battlefield, after the vikings took their retreat, Heahmund's plan having outsmarted Ivar's this time.

He sinks to his knees beside him and thanks the Lord, beside himself, as shaky eyelids part to reveal startling blue eyes that look at him clouded and bleary.

And Heahmund turns to two of the healers treating the injured. "This is an important viking king. Leader of the heathen army. Save him."

*

Heahmund watches him as he lies unconscious. Still he looks so young, through all the hardship he's been through. For now the constant frown or manic grin having left his face. Only there, the seldomly beheld vulnerability that Ivar visited upon Heahmund almost from the beginning. And maybe that had been Heahmund's downfall. That trust bestowed upon him, to let him see him when no one else was allowed to.

*

"I am your prisoner now," Ivar says, from the bed on which he's propped up. "How the tides have turned."

"You are not my prisoner, but King Aethelwulf's." Heahmund says, sitting down beside his bed.

"What is this place? Who are these women, with the weird head-dresses?"

"You are in a monastery. These women are nuns. The female variant of monks. They have tended to your wounds."

"A monastery!" A pleased and curious smile spreads over Ivar's face. 

"I expect you will behave yourself."

"Heahmund, I'm a cripple." He laughs. "Who could I possibly hurt?"

*

It was good to see his priest again. Ivar recalls seeing him on the battlefield, somewhere between consciousness and someplace else. He had expected the Valkyries, or maybe a deathblow that had doubtless been only moments away. How foolish of him to feel so reassured by the face of the man who's now his enemy again.

But, well, that's how life goes. It was fated. Seemingly the gods are no longer pleased by his success. Have maybe deemed him too cocky. Or, the Christian god as always is there to take Heahmund's side and has decided to finally fell the man who'd taken his priest from him for so many years.

For now, Ivar is curious to be here at this place. He isn't at all as hopeless and afraid as he was when he'd been prisoner at King Ecbert's court with his father. Despite knowing that Aethelwulf hates him with passion and is far less reasonable than his father.

*

"What will happen?" Ivar asks the next time.

"Your brother Bjorn wants to exchange you. He has offered that they will return the towns of York and Manchester and leave England as soon as you've been returned to them."

"I did not think he liked me that much." Ivar says with a chuckle. "But?"

"But Aethelwulf wants to execute you. To show everyone that even the mighty viking leaders can fall. He needs it to strengthen his position. It's been years since your father died. And all it brought people was more destruction and death. He needs something, another reminder that you are not invincible. Of course letting you go would be the sensible decision. Judith thinks so, just as Alfred. But Aethelwulf is a warrior not a king. He never mastered to think in the interest of all instead of letting his emotions govern him."

"And you, priest?" Ivar leans close. "Did you speak for me?"

Heahmund gives a huff. "If I did speak for you it would only further Aethelwulf's need to do exactly the opposite."

"He still hates you so much?"

"I think he never was happier than the day you took me with you." Heahmund laughs.

Ivar nods. "Yes, it was a good day." He smirks. "I was happy too. You, though, were scared."

"I was terrified." Heahmund says with a faint smile.

"Because you thought you were invincible."

"Because I thought I was invincible." Heahmund agrees. "I learned better now."

"You are nearly invincible, if that helps."

Suddenly Ivar just leans forward, closing the distance that's short enough as it is, and kisses Heahmund.

And instead of pulling away, Heahmund puts a hand to Ivar's face and deepens the kiss.

"You should not die." Heahmund says.

"Yes," Ivar shrugs. "But we'll see if it's fated. Do you think my execution will be as impressive as my father's?"

*

"Do you think," Ivar asks, as they lie with each other, the sweat not even having yet cooled on them. "they know what their precious bishop is doing when he's here with me?"

Heahmund smirks at him, mildly. "Saving your soul."

"Well, who am I to stop you then?"

*

"You need to swear off." Heahmund states when he walks in again.

"I need to what?"

"Accept Jesus."

"Heahmund," Ivar sounds impatient and humoring at the same time. "We had this conversation."

"No. I know that, Ivar. Pretend."

*

"The heathen king has accepted Jesus as his savior. He has seen the light. It is a miracle. Praise the Lord!"

Despite themselves the nobles chime into Heahmund's praise, while Aethelwulf just looks dumbfounded.

"He has promised to build a church in his lands and convert all his people."

"Praise the Lord!" Aethelwulf's personal confessor shouts out in exaltation.

"Praise the Lord." Judith repeats calmly, calculating eyes resting on Heahmund. As always that woman sees too much. Her hand absentmindedly goes up to her ear that is as always covered by her hair.

*

But it's not that easy. It never is. And Aethelwulf, vengeful and petty as he is, can not pull his claws out of the prey he deemed secured. And he still plans to go through with the execution. And no reason will make him see differently.

*

"What do you want, Heahmund?"

"I'm here to ask you if you will accept the Lord as your redeemer before your death. To save your immortal soul." He means it this time, Ivar can tell that. Heahmund is desperate. Wants to save his soul. Before he dies. It warms his soul that the priest doesn't want him to burn eternally in hell.

"What have they planned for me then?"

"Burning at the stake."

"I thought that was reserved for apostates?"

"They made an exception."

*

"Come to say goodbye?" Ivar asks with a smile.

Instead Heahmund picks him up and carries him out of the cell. Ivar looks at the dead soldiers lying in front of it. Sees the drawn look on Heahmund's face who refuses to speak to him, and knows that a line has been crossed. No words are exchanged as he's carried through the tunnels and ways under the castle, through the dungeons. 

Heahmund throws him across his horse. Then they ride off.

On the beach, Ivar is handed over to Bjorn. Who is almost as surprised as Ivar himself.

"Are you not coming with us, priest?" Ivar asks, as he sits in the boat and Heahmund is about to get back on his horse.

"I am not too afraid to face justice for my deeds." Heahmund simply replies.

"They will kill you for this."

"I know."

"Don't be a fool, priest."

"I made a decision and I will stand by it."

"Come back with me," Ivar says, desperate himself by now. "and I'll have a church build for you in Kattegat! And you can try and convert as many people as you'd like!"

Heahmund smiles wistfully, but shakes his head. As always Ivar isn't willing to give up that easy. When was he ever? But he's committed the ultimate transgression, all he can do now is atone for his sins in the final way. And maybe then, in death, he'll be able to find peace. He looks back at the castle, eyes sad but calm. Regretful. The place where his journey will finally find it's end. He did not imagine it would be here. Not in this way. 

Ivar stares at his priest in fear and disbelief, as the other looks back at the castle, resolve forming on his face. The priest once more grips for the saddle of his horse decisively. Then suddenly, Heahmund slaps the horse on the flank, making it gallop off and stalks towards the boat, right through the water. Bjorn pulls him aboard.

Heahmund turns to Ivar, face in an expression that might either be resolve or surrender. "Alright. Alright then."

Bjorn just chuckles to himself as he starts rowing back to the ship, thankful that things turned out so much better for his brother than they did for his father. And that, despite the fact that Ivar and Heahmund are so much more headstrong than Ragnar and Athelstan ever were. He's also relieved that he didn't have to wrestle the priest into the boat, which he's sure Ivar's next order would have been.

*

"Can you be happy?" Ivar asks, when they're back at camp. "Can you be happy with your decision?"

"We will have to see, Ivar."

Today Heahmund spilled Christian blood for him, and expelled himself from his own people through it. The priest has chosen him, irrevocably. And that's more than Ivar knows how to deal with, despite being the fullfillment of his greatest, most desperate dream.

"I never asked you to die for me." Ivar says.

"Ivar," Heahmund replies tiredly. "You asked me to die for you many times."

"Not like this."

"Does it matter in which way? You asked again this time, if not in words. And I chose. There's nothing to say about it."

"I did not think you loved me that much."

"And you were wrong." Heahmund says tersely. "Do not tell me it is not exactly what you wanted."

"I know you give me a lot of credit, but I did not plan to get captured."

"I know you didn't. If you had, I would not have saved you."

"I think maybe you would have." A small smirk, testing the waters.

"Yes. Maybe. Do you really still need this kind of affirmation? After all those years?"

"Yes." Ivar replies with the unapologetic bluntness that's so very customary to him. Then, "Would you have wanted to stay? Would you have wanted me to leave again, letting you stay here in peace?"

"I do not know." Heahmund exclaims harshly. "My soul is in turmoil. There are no right choices for me to make. Not anymore. I did not know how impossible it would be until I returned. I'll never be viking, Ivar. But my allegiance is first to God and then to you."

"And I meant what I said about your church." Ivar tells him solemnly.

**Author's Note:**

> I was super-disappointed by 5B, so here they are getting their happy ending. And this will also conclude my series.


End file.
